


Limitations + Roommates

by JustAnotherWriter (N1ghtshade)



Series: Wunderkind 0.5 [4]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Comfortember, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hair Washing, Pre-series Wunderkind, Riley and Sam as roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:08:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27635936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/N1ghtshade/pseuds/JustAnotherWriter
Summary: Samantha Cage has been a good roommate so far. She's a psy-ops agent, which sounded like the worst possible person to spend days in an enclosed space with, but it's actually not bad. Less live-in Freudian psychoanalysis and more 'I can tell you need space without you needing to ask me'. Riley could get used to this.Unfortunately, Sam's perceptivity has probably also meant that she already knows Riley's being stubborn about the hair situation.A short scene in between the Wunderkind 1.01 cold open and the main episode, in which Riley's injury from Lake Como is making some things a little harder than usual. AKA an excuse to write some soft fluffy hair washing fic for the girls this time.
Relationships: Samantha Cage & Riley Davis
Series: Wunderkind 0.5 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947766
Comments: 12
Kudos: 16





	Limitations + Roommates

**Author's Note:**

> I went back and forth over whether this one was technically a deleted scene or a 0.5 fic, due to its location in the series. Finally, I decided that since all you need to know to read it is that this AU is a role reversal of Mac and Riley (which is why Riley in this one has the shoulder injury from Como), it should be fine as a 0.5!

Riley's currently trying to decide which will be the bigger blow to her pride. Poorly washed hair or asking for assistance in washing it.

She still can't raise her left arm above her head, and she's not supposed to use her right arm a lot either because doing that can tug her stitches and the healing muscles as well. It's hard enough to take a shower and wash her body without getting the bandages wet. Doing her hair sounds like it requires a mission plan.

Her new roommate said to ask for anything Riley needed. At first, she'd balked a little at the sheer suggestion that she have someone move in. She's never needed that much help before. Then again, she's never coded three times on the operating table before either.

And Samantha Cage has been a good roommate so far. She's a psy-ops agent, which sounded like the worst possible person to spend days in an enclosed space with, but it's actually not bad. Less live-in Freudian psychoanalysis and more 'I can tell you need space without you needing to ask me'. Riley could get used to this.

Unfortunately, Sam's perceptivity has probably also meant that she already knows Riley's being stubborn about the hair situation. She sighs, frowning at her reflection. The greasy strands of hair falling around her face and the dark circles around her eyes make her look like she just got out of some torture cell instead of having spent the past two weeks in her own place.

She knows from experience she'll feel better about herself if she feels more  _ like _ herself. And clean hair would be a good start.

"Sam?" She calls quietly.

"Yes?"

With Jack it would have been a question of whether Riley had fallen in the shower and couldn't get up. He likes to lead with jokes when they have to deal with less than comfortable situations for either of them, to break the tension and make them more comfortable with being vulnerable or admitting they need help. Sam is still feeling her way around the edges of the whole situation.

"Could you help me wash my hair?"

"Of course." There's a tentative knock on the bathroom door, and Riley opens it. She's sure that not just stepping inside is something Sam did on purpose. Giving Riley the most control she can have in the situation. Nothing Sam does is random or unplanned. Riley isn't sure what it takes to make a person go through life so deliberately. She's not entirely sure she wants to know. She knows she's messed up, has been since she was a kid, and being an agent only made it more pronounced. But...Sam is on a whole different level.

There's a stool in the shower, a necessity for all the times Riley's been legitimately unable to stand for long enough to shower, and she grabs a towel to wipe the dampness off the seat before sitting down and draping the towel around her shoulders. The protective plastic shield is still over her bandage, but the towel will be an extra layer of protection.

Sam sheds her button-down and her socks, and below the tank top she was wearing under the shirt Riley can see dozens of old scars. Sam could probably rival Jack for the level of damage, actually. Riley's seen the scars on Sam's arms when she rolls up her sleeves in the kitchen, but there's a deep pink jagged cut along her collarbone, a brown gouge in her upper left arm that's indented the skin and puckered around it, and a line on her neck that now that Riley can see the extent of it without a collar in the way, looks like it came from a garotte. There are even more marks snaking their way beneath the fabric.

Riley knows the stories of most of Jack's scars, even if she's sure some have been bragged up out of proportion. But...Sam's are as much a mystery as she is. She wonders if Sam has been sizing up Riley's own scars as much as she's studying Sam's now. For agents, those are almost as much of their story as their official dossiers.

Sam grabs Riley's shampoo and conditioner and detaches the showerhead from its hook so she can bring it down to where she's working.

The flexible showerhead is possibly the best investment Riley's made in her apartment. She made fun of the 'senior citizen shower' in Jack's place until the day she had to come over and use his because there was no way she was going to be able to keep a dressing dry under the spray from a fixed head. Jack got the last laugh on that one. As he does on a lot of things agent-related. Someday, she's going to learn to take notes on his patented 'Jack Dalton School of Infinite Wisdom'.

"Just relax," Sam says. "I'm not going to snap your neck or something."

"That's incredibly reassuring to hear you say," Riley snarks back, but she's chuckling in spite of herself. Yet another one of those conversations she'd like to write down because  _ only _ government agents as roommates could possibly say things this weird.

Riley's hair is already damp because it's impossible not to get it wet even though she did have Sam help her tuck it all in a shower cap earlier. It never stays well, and the edges are always wet. She leans back a little while Sam sprays the hair and soaks it evenly.

The smell of Riley's favorite coconut shampoo fills the steamy room when Sam squeezes out a generous amount and works it into Riley's thick curls. She's never, ever, in her life been able to use the 'recommended amount' of anything hair care related. She laughs at the conditioners that advise a 'pea-sized amount' worked into the hair. That would condition approximately one curl of hers.

Sam rubs her fingertips gently against Riley's scalp, and Riley hums softly, leaning back a little further and closing her eyes to keep out any rogue soap. She hasn't felt this calm or relaxed since...since before Como.

"Whatever Vulcan mind-meld you're doing, this is great," She mutters quietly.

Sam snorts. "You and your Star Wars references."

"Star TREK!" Riley says indignantly.

"Well, I wouldn't know. I haven't seen anything with the word 'star' in it."

"Well, we have to fix that immediately. Star Trek marathon weekend coming up." Sam hits a snarled spot and Riley's eyes fly open and she bites her lip. It's not that it hurts, really, but she just doesn't like the feeling of people tugging on her hair. It's one of the hazards of the job.

Sam seems to have picked up on the tension suddenly flooding Riley because she stops working at the tangle and moves on. Riley can't be sure if that's just Sam's attunement to other people's body language or if she's learned the same thing by experience. She closes her eyes again and takes a few deep breaths

Sam rinses her hair carefully, making sure to wash all the soap out of it. Riley can hear the crackly sound of the bubbly shampoo still stuck in the strands at first, but eventually, there's only the plain swish of water through her hair.

"The conditioner says ends only, but I just use it on all of my hair," Riley interjects when she hears the snap of Sam opening the cap.

"Thanks for the warning." Riley can hear Sam rubbing her hands together, and then feels her fingers carding through her hair. Only when Sam has finished working in the conditioner through all of Riley's hair does she take down the plastic comb Riley has tucked on the shower shelf and carefully combs through it. She's gentle with every one of the multiple snarls and snags, and even though sometimes the tug of the comb sends an electric jolt through Riley's shoulders and a shiver down her spine, she doesn't feel truly threatened or in danger. 

The conditioner Riley uses is meant to be rinsed out, so she tips her head back again and lets Sam wash her hair with slightly cooler water to help keep away the frizz. Sometimes she uses a leave-in conditioner afterward, but with her hair as greasy as it's been lately, she doesn't think she'll bother this time. Besides, she's starting to feel chilly in the damp air.

Sam wraps Riley's hair in a towel and tucks it up over her head, and Riley stands up carefully, trying not to slip on the damp floor after everything.

She still needs help re-dressing her wound, but somehow that feels less vulnerable than asking Sam to help with her hair did. Maybe because there's something clinical about how agents approach each other's injuries. Field treatments and such are simply an expected part of life. Domestic assistance isn't something spy school really puts an emphasis on, though. Riley knows how to withstand torture. She's not sure she really knows how to handle friendships. She's been trained in all the ways not to give up intel under pressure. But she doesn't know how to ask for help.

Riley's been stubborn about putting on her own shirts so far, even though she can't move her injured arm much, sticking to zip-up hoodies (half of which she's stolen/borrowed from Jack, who has them for the same reason). The oversize fabric feels warm and comforting against her skin.

Which reminds her, Jack promised to come over today and make hamburgers for them. Maybe she can rope him into the Star Trek marathon too, even though he still claims Star Wars is the superior space series. She's still working on him.

"Thanks. For everything," she says as Sam opens the bathroom door.

"Any time." 


End file.
